


How Flowers Bloom in Winter [DISCONTINUED]

by stardustsroses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Head Boys & Head Girls, Redeemed Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustsroses/pseuds/stardustsroses
Summary: Months after the war ended and the dark lord perished, hogwarts is rebuilt, and a new light shines in the wizarding world. As the golden trio prepares for their last year, Head Girl Hermione Granger finds herself on a mission: to convince former-enemy Draco Malfoy to come back to school.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I missed them.
> 
> This is a sort of follow-up to my first Draco x Hermione fanfiction: To Rewrite History (you can read it here: . You don’t have to read it to read this story, but do feel free to check it out if you want to see their first adorable (lil awkward) first kiss. I hope you guys like it, and, as always, thank you for reading!

Her letters were left unanswered.

It had been a mistake to hope, Hermione thought to herself. To hope that he would listen. Or care.

Still, sighing, a dark pit of sadness in her chest, she read his note, once, twice, a third time, desperately attempting and regretfully failing to figure out the equation that was Draco Malfoy’s mind.

_I’ll write, if you will._

_Yours,_

_D.M._

Maybe it had been a mistake — that kiss.

She remembered it all too well, however, the grey eyes and the strong jaw and the hesitance and the last remaining bits of sunlight streaming in through the balcony of the Astronomy Tower.

The day the war ended.

She remembered climbing those stairs, exhausted, hurt, dry tears still clinging to her cheeks as she attempted to escape the chaos that had descended her school. Hermione wanted nothing more than to see the sky, and ease her mind, for just a moment.

She’d found him even though she hadn’t been looking for him. Standing in that balcony, hands in his pockets, a deadly calm hovering above him like rain clouds, even if the sun was shining.

Hermione remembered their conversation.

The bickering.

Then their kiss.

Maybe they’d both been helpless and desperate for reassurance after that day. Maybe it had been the product of their shattered souls searching for a way to be put back together.

Hermione could not blame herself for trying to reach out and help him. Regardless of her tumultuous, confusing feelings, it was still the right thing to do.

But she received no answer.

And she doubted she would.

Her unfinished third letter was half crumpled in her desk. Downstairs, she could hear Mrs. Weasley calling for breakfast. The sun was rising.

Hermione hadn’t slept again.

If only Draco Malfoy was her only worry. There were days when she felt the walls caving in around her, and claws digging deep into her chest – the ache of losing her friends and her family still too present in her mind.

After a summer in the Weasley’s home, despite the comfort they offered, despite the happiness they gave her, there was still an emptiness inside her that Hermione would not, could not, fill. She was good at keeping herself busy: diving back into her studies, practising her wandless magic in the Weasley’s backyard, reading, reading, more reading, jumping into worlds, words and minds so different from her own, never keeping still, because if she kept still her mind became too loud, and when it got too loud she would often lose herself in-

Hermione jumped out her chair, instinct driving her to grab for her wand. The ink spilled over the wood, over her trousers, and before she could form a spell on her lips, she saw Ron’s wide eyes staring at her from across her room, the door half-opened.

“Ronald!” She cried out, her voice sounding shrill even to her own ears. “I told you to please stop… _barging_ in.”

Ron stared at her for a couple of seconds, and Hermione swallowed down hard, her heart jumping out of her chest.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed softly.

“I…” she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. You just frightened me.”

“Mom’s calling for breakfast.”

“Yes, I’ll be right down.”

Ron hesitated, lost words hanging between them like a loose, broken chain. “Hermione…”

“I’ll be right down,” she repeated, turning away from him.

He closed the door, and Hermione sat back down, a trembling mess of a girl.

She pushed curls away from her eyes, carefully placing her wand in front of her, yet not completely away from her reach.

It had been difficult, in the first couple of weeks, to sleep without it.

And now, Ron…

She could sense his sadness like it was her own. The guilt was a firm hand squeezing at her throat, which was not rational, she knew. Hermione had nothing to be guilty of.

Her eyes trailed over the unfinished letter.

_I know you probably don’t wish to come back to Hogwarts, but I truly think_

_It’s best if you face it, trust me._

_~~Tell me that day in the Astronomy Tower was real.~~ _

Hermione felt like a hypocrite reading back those unfinished sentences.

Who was she to tell Draco Malfoy to face his school, his peers, when she couldn’t face her best friend?

Hermione sighed, looked to the window, to the rising sun, painting the skies yellow.

She knew what she had to do.

***

Hogwarts was standing.

Not many teachers had arrived, and so the empty halls were echoing her footsteps, dimply illuminated by candles and the stars and the moon. She remembered walking these very halls the day Voldemort died, making her way to the skies, so she could have a moment alone to think, to ask for peace. She remembered a broken column at her feet, her wordless spell twirling the rocks back into place. She remembered tasting ash in her bitter lips.

Now, Hogwarts was just as it had been before it all.

There were memories in every corner, in every curtain and tapestry. As she made her way to the Headmistress’ office, Hermione could not believe this was the last year she was going to get to walk these walls as a student.

She could not believe she was there to walk in them at all.

McGonagall was sitting at her desk, scribbling slowly. Half-moon glasses looked up at her as she entered, and a calm, knowing smile etched across her old professor’s lips.

“Miss Granger, I was not expecting you at this hour.”

“Apologies, Headmistress,” Hermione said. “I had errands to run in Diagon Alley, and thought I should stop by.”

McGonagall placed down her feather, and gestured for Hermione to sit. As she did, Hermione could not help but look at Dumbledore’s portrait, sitting right behind McGonagall. He was sleeping, it seemed.

McGonagall gave Hermione a knowing, yet seemingly tired smile. “He does that a lot.”

Hermione smiled. She could not begin to understand the weight of this office, this position, in her old professor’s shoulders. McGonagall, despite everything, had taken the reins and turned this school back to what it used to be.

“What is bothering you, Miss Granger?”

Hermione hesitated, before saying: “I was wondering, Headmistress, if you knew anything about Draco Malfoy’s enrolment situation.”

McGonagall only said, “No, Miss Granger, I must say I unfortunately do not. I know less than you.”

Hermione paused. “Do you not think we should…insist?”

McGonagall nodded slightly, a little pensively, and said, “The term begins in less than two weeks, Miss Granger. If Mr. Malfoy wished to enrol this year, I believe he would already have.”

“But he’s afraid,” Hermione explained, inching forward. “He believe he will be judged by everyone-“

“And he most certainly will, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, matter-of-factly. “It is a dire situation, ours. The world has shifted immensely this summer, but the war remains fresh on everyone’s minds, you see. Prejudice lies in every corner. And while I admire your preoccupation with Mr. Malfoy, I must tell you that I have done everything in my power to reach him, and received no answer. We cannot force people’s hearts, Miss Granger, especially hearts that have strong convictions.”

Hermione shook her head to herself, softly sighing. “I will try one more time, Headmistress. If he is allowed to come back, then I must.”

“The law of imprisonment of the families involved with the Dark Lord during the war does not prohibit their offspring from finishing their education. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy may never leave their home, and they may never cast a spell or charm without the Ministry being notified, but that does not mean their son is condemned, Miss Granger,” McGonagall explained. “However, he is being watched. As unfortunate as that is, Mr. Malfoy is not without his crimes. And if he does come back to Hogwarts, I must warn you that the Ministry will have wide lens over the young man, and I will not be able to shield him from everything. Whether or not this will be good for him, I am not sure, Miss Granger.”

“But what if it proves something to people?” Hermione insisted. “You know it, just as well as I do, that Draco Malfoy is not his mistakes. If people saw him as he truly is, the fear and the prejudice would succumb. I am sure it would.”

McGonagall smiled just slightly. “I believe you, Miss Granger. And I want it to be true. I offer my protection as well as the protection of these walls, if you can convince Mr. Malfoy to return. But bear what I told you in mind when you speak to him. This world is ever changing, indeed, but there will be those willing to condemn every Slytherin in this school, but specially Mr. Malfoy. I reckon you understand why.”

Hermione lowered her eyes, thinking back to the desperation in him. The sadness and bitterness and anger and trauma all bottled up in pools of grey-

“Forgive me for asking, Miss Granger,” McGonagall began again, her eyes gaining new light, “but what has made you wish to protect Mr. Malfoy, despite it being the right thing to do? For I believe you not to be the best of friends growing up…”

Hermione stared at those half-moons, attempting to find in herself the right words. “I… had a very enlightening conversation with Mr. Malfoy on the second of May, Headmistress. I found him to be quite burdened with what happened and specially with the role he was forced to play during the war.” The girl paused, and shrugged. “I feel as if I see part parts of myself in him now. What he is going through in the present is exactly what I felt when I first discovered I belonged in this world. I feel it is my duty to help.”

McGonagall nodded, watching Hermione with affectionate, gentle eyes. “I admire you, Miss Granger. It is a very difficult thing to keep flowers blooming during harsh winters.”

Hermione smiled at her old professor, lifting herself up. “Thank you, Professor.”

But before Hermione could step out of the office, McGonagall said, “Hermione.”

The girl turned to find her Professor staring at her with wise eyes. “When you speak to Mr. Malfoy, tell him he will be sharing the title of Head Student with you, if he does decide to return.”

Hermione blinked, surprised. “Are you sure that is safe? I mean… I don’t think students will appreciate-“

“It is like you said, Miss Granger. If you want the world to understand Mr. Malfoy, he has to be given the chance to prove himself. I am giving him that chance. And asking you to keep an eye on him in the process.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Hermione repeated slowly, dread falling over her shoulders.

McGonagall nodded once. “Mr. Malfoy’s magic will not be controlled by the Ministry in these walls, for it goes against the law, but, unfortunately, because of who he is, I have to take precautions. It is unfair, Miss Granger, I realize it. But after everything that happened, please understand that I cannot risk any danger falling over our school.”

Hermione paused. “He wouldn’t…” She hesitated.

Her professor nodded once. “My instincts also tell that he would not do anything to harm this school. What I am afraid of, Miss Granger, are the outside forces.”

“His aunt is chained in Azkaban. There is no one to free her now. His parents-”

“As I said,” McGonagall interrupted. “Precaution.”

Hermione nodded mechanically, and said, “I will do my best.”

***

Her hands shook.

Hermione breathed in. She’d never seen the front of Malfoy Manor, she realized. She’d been dragged here, bloody and scarred, placed on a cell deep below, so far into the ground that no one could hear her screams.

Now was not the time for trembling legs.

She walked through the front gates, making sure her wand was still clutched tightly in her hand, but not in any way aimed to attack.

Hermione must have been out of her mind to risk coming here. To evoke all those images-

But she believed in her cause, and she believed in Draco Malfoy, and she believed she could help her school, and her world.

She believed, and she hoped.

That is why when the door of the Malfoy Manor opened, she stood firmly planted on the ground, her back straight, her chin raised high.

_She’s not here. She’s not here._

Hermione looked down, and was faced with a house elf, looking absolutely out of his mind with rage.

Her throat went dry.

“What!?” The elf said.

Hermione was speechless for a few seconds, her mind conjuring her friend, Dobby, who had been so mistreated at the hands of the Malfoys. Dobby, who must have suffered as much as this elf certainly had, if not more-

She wanted to rage at this – house elves still being permitted to be slaves to wizards was absolutely, irrevocably-

“What does you want?!” The creature shrieked. “What does you want, girl!?”

Hermione flinched, but-

One problem at a time.

“May I speak to your…” she coughed, uncomfortable, “master?”

“No! Master is not to be disturbed!”

“Please,” Hermione said. “It’s a matter of the utmost urgency-“

Footsteps sounded in the dark, long and narrow hallway. Hermione could only see a brief glance of white-blonde hair, before the door opened wide in an angry manner, and the elf was sent scurrying back inside with a shrill cry of fear.

Hermione’s breath was stolen out of her chest.

In front of her stood Narcisa Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

The end of august brought an unforgiving chill.

Much like Narcisa’s eyes.

She was thinner, Hermione grimly noticed, much too thin. Hollow cheeks and dark under eyes, and what Hermione found most heart-breaking: Narcisa Malfoy no longer looked imperious.

She looked terribly sad.

And incredibly annoyed.

“What do you want, girl?”

Even her voice had lost its power. Hermione could only imagine what she looked like to this woman: a child, a muggle-born girl who had no right to be at her doorstep, the one who’d been bleeding all over her living room rug just months ago, screaming her lungs out.

Narcisa had walked away that day, unable to see it. Unable to withstand what was being done in her own home, while she was too weak to stop it. 

Or maybe she hadn’t been weak at all, Hermione thought to herself. Maybe Narcisa Malfoy had been brave – only to her family. Not stopping her mad sister from torturing Hermione meant that her family was safe.

That Draco was safe.

Draco-

“May I speak to your son?” Hermione asked, hiding the nervousness of her timbre, hiding the way her fingers just itched to wrap around her wand.

“He’s not in.”

Hermione saw past the lie. “Please, Mrs. Malfoy. If you could just tell him I’m here, I-“

“Listen to me, girl,” Narcisa said, stepping closer to Hermione, but never placing a foot out of her door. There was no anger in her tone, simply… impatience. “My son is healing. He does not need you or that school or anyone else. Leave him be. It’s the best you can do for him.”

Taken aback, Hermione stared at Narcisa’s tired face. She continued, after a moment’s pause. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

“I came because I need to speak to Draco,” Hermione insisted. “Believe it or not, I was not sent by McGonagall. I am here on my own free will. And I am afraid, Mrs. Malfoy, that I must insist in speaking to him. And if your son does not wish to see me, may he come to the door and actually say that to my face.” She breathes in deep, cheeks warming. And then, softly, “Please.”

Narcisa stared at the girl as if in awe.

Hermione was not sure if Narcisa might want to call thunder from the skies and send it crashing in on her, or if she was simply admiring her recklesness.

“I’m sorry,” Narcisa whispered. It was the only thing she said before the door began to close on her face.

“Wait-“

“Mother.”

Hermione stopped – they both did. And through the tiny gap, Hermione saw him – dark and tall, a lean, shadowed silhouette standing behind his mother. Narcisa froze, her hand on the door, and Hermione heard whispered nothings, gentle words. Mother’s words.

Hermione stood there, a little embarassed, feeling as if she was truly invading a space she should have never crossed, when a marbled hand opens the door despite Narcisa’s protests. Then he was there, watching her with furrowed brows and a confused grimace. And something else she could not properly describe. Hermione flt a strange pang at her chest at seeing that a little cruelty had regained its place back into his grey eyes.

Suddenly Hermione was very much aware of what she was doing – of where she was, of the weight of her limbs, of her parted lips.

_Pull yourself together._

“Granger,” he said, and actually finding the parts of herself to put together was a difficult task.

“You didn’t answer my letters,” was the first thing that came out of her mouth. And still, more words were blurted out, like she couldn’t stop herself. “I came to know why.”

Why did she sound so betrayed?

So… childish?

Draco Malfoy wore black clothes, cut perfectly to his size, a little simpler than what she was used to. A shirt and trousers, casual, expensive shoes. He’d pushed back his hair. He stared at her as if he didn’t know what to say.

As if she was speaking another language.

And then she caught Narcisa’s eyes over Draco’s shoulders. The woman looked the other way instantly.

Then Hermione understood.

Her body went cold. “I sent you letters,” she murmured.

Malfoy froze for a few seconds, grey eyes turning to steel. Slowly, he turned his head to look at his mother. Accusingly.

Narcisa did not let her guilt show. “I am trying to protect you.”

“It was not for you to decide,” Draco said softly.

Hermione had never seen him go against his parents before. Would never imagine that Malfoy would have that capability. And would have never imagined that he would be angry with his mother because of this; would have never imagined that he cared enough to.

She would have never imagined that his voice could sound like that.

A kernel of sadness enveloped her heart.

“How many,” Draco demanded.

And Hermione was not sure if he was asking her or his mother, so, after a second, Hermione said, “Two.”

He worked his jaw.

He stared at his mother. “Did you read them?”

“No,” Narcisa said, and Hermione believed her.

Not that there hadn’t been anything in that letter for Narcisa to find shocking, but-

Draco looked behind him, to the empty, dark hallway. A house of ghosts. A house of terrors. And then he turned to Hermione, and for a moment she truly believed he was going to send her away with a jeer and a sneer.

But he stepped out of the house and walked past her, not waiting for her to follow.

Hermione hesitated, then looked to Narcisa.

The woman’s eyes darkened. “Draco, let me talk.”

Draco stopped and looked over his shoulder once more. “Granger.”

She understood Narcisa, she did.

Hermione knew well enough the kind of love you feel for your family. How you would do anything for them. But she doubted Narcisa Malfoy would accept any kind of comforting words, much less from her.

So Hermione followed Draco through the garden maze, watching his back as he stomped through the greyish grass. She’d prepared speeches. She’d rehearsed them. She knew the words to convince him by heart. But as she reached him and walked by him, Hermione felt her chest empty of words, yet full of feelings. Beside her, he was tough as stone, cold as winter. She could not read him.

Hermione didn’t know what to make of this – of them. What to make of the memories that didn’t leave her mind and plagued her during every waking second, when she should be thinking about every other thing but that – but _him_. Yet, standing next to him now, after a summer apart, Hermione could still recall what he’d said that afternoon in the Astronomy Tower. Hermione could still recall the way he’d kissed her.

_“Nothing should feel this good,”_ he’d said.

He’d seem to want her then.

Did he still want her now?

He stopped then, a good distance away from her, hands in his pockets. Closed off.

“I didn’t know you ended up writing,” he said, but his voice seemed far away, and he seemed intent on not meeting her eyes.

_Did you want me to write?_ She wanted to ask _. Were you disappointed when you thought I wouldn’t?_

_Did you think about how you kissed me?_

She asked nothing of the sort. Pushing memories away. _Focus_.

“It’s why I’m here,” Hermione said. And then, just to clarify, she blurted out: “The letters didn’t mention… anything regarding that day. Just in case you were wondering.”

Malfoy only blinked. “I wasn’t.”

Right.

Enough beating around the bush. “Come back to Hogwarts.”

“No.”

Hermione bit the inside of her lip. “Malfoy, I believe-“

“I don’t want a speech,” he told her. Cold. So cold. “I don’t want you to list all the reasons why you think I should go back to that hell hole. To hell with your reasons, Granger. To hell with your school.”

She stared at him, unblinking, watching as Malfoy turned his eyes to bushes made of thorns and no roses.

All thorns and no roses, this man.

“Alright,” she said simply.

Malfoy stopped, and snapped his eyes back to her. They both said nothing, until he frowned. “That’s it? Thought you’d put a lot more work into that Where’s your Gryffindor spirit?”

Pushing her away, that’s what he was doing. And Hermione knew why. Draco Malfoy lived with piles of boxes containing nothing but guilt and sadness, all stored away beneath his bed. There was a weight of the world on top of his shoulders. Embarassment, fear, anger.

It was like looking in a mirror.

“Is that what you want me to do?” She asked softly.

“Reversing your speech is not going to manipulate me.”

“I am not trying to,” she told him, honestly. “I know your reasons. And I won’t force you.”

“Then why come all this way – to here, of all places?”

She knew what he meant. Hermione saw flashes of that afternoon in his eyes. His aunt’s laughter. Her screams.

The word in her arm stung.

“I meant what I said in the Astronomy Tower,” Hermione said, resolute. “I think you’re worth saving.”

Something about that word was like a sword digging into his chest, Hermione realized. He opened his mouth to retort, but then shook his head, and began to walk away from her.

Hermione stared after him.

Then, she decided: “Do you want to get away from those Aurors for a while?”

That made him stop in his tracks. Look at her.

Hermione pointed with her chin to the two Aurors making their rounds around his manor, guarding his parents. She said, “Then come with me.”

“What the fuck are you on about, Granger?”

_He’s got a mouth on him._

“Care to find out?” She raised a challenging brow.

Despite his dumbfoundedness, she saw the little desperation making a home in his eyes as they turned to the Aurors. Like an animal in a cage.

Just as quickly as she saw that vulnerability, it was gone as he blinked and turned his gaze back to her. “Potty and Weasel busy?”

Her mood soured. “I told you to stop calling them that.”

“What is Weasel’s opinion about you being here?”

Hermione scoffed at him-

“Ah, he doesn’t know,” Malfoy said slowly.

“No one has to have an opinion,” Hermione interjected, crossing her arms. “Are you done with your pseudo-taunting?” She held out a hand. “My offer doesn’t last forever.”

Neither brave enough to confront what happened between them months ago, what words they exchanged but this – this semi-hostile, sneer-y behaviour…

Somehow, it was better. Bearable.

Malfoy observed her, then his eyes made their way down to her outstretched hand. “I will never understand you,” he admitted.

“Nor should you,” she completed, hand still poised to take his.

Malfoy took a step forward, turning his head to the unsuspecting Aurors. He had to ask, “Where are we going?”

Hermione smiled the moment he gave in. “I want to show you something. Come on.”

He actually took a step back when she approached him. Hermione hesitated, then said, “You managed to snatch the Elder Wand from Voldemort himself, but refrain from taking my hand?”

Draco visibly flinched.

Hermione’s heart wobbled. “Malfoy, it’s just a name.”

Frustrated and angry, he scoffed and took her hand. “Fine. Get to it.”

That half a second when she looked into his eyes, right before she apparated them out of Malfoy Manor, she saw something in Draco’s face that left her a little broken. She knew it then, though she kept it to herself. She knew that despite the taunting, the sneering, the cold gaze, the harsh exterior and nonchalant gestures, part of the boy she had known had died that day, never to return.

***

The road was deserted. It was almost night.

To avoid splinching, Hermione had to apparate them twice – once outside the Leaky Cauldron, and then once more. Malfoy was silent and suspicious both times.

Then they were standing in a deserted road with orange-coloured trees and parked cars in driveways. White gates and medium-sized brick houses. Lights were beginning to appear in lamp posts. Somewhere, far away, a dog was barking in a yard, sensing their unnatural aura.

Draco inhaled sharply as he realized where he’d been taken.

Hermione had wondered if he’d ever crossed the lines between the two worlds, and now the answer was absurdly clear.

Of course he hadn’t.

Smiling in reassurance, Hermione told him, “Believe it or not, this is the safest place you can be.”

Malfoy looked about him, and where Hermione once expected disgust or fear, she saw only slight confusion, a little defensiveness, and-

Curiosity.

He gave her a look. “This is where you grew up, I’m guessing.”

Hermione walked past him, bidding him to follow. Hesitant, Draco moved. “Why are we here, Granger?”

She threw a look over her shoulder. “You have little patience; do you know that? In the muggle world, we have a saying: Patience is a virtue. I said I wanted to show you something. Wait for me to show you, will you?”

***

Draco felt inexplicably calm despite the fact that Hermione Jean Granger had apparated them to the muggle neighbourhood.

He was beginning to believe that the girl truly was mad, after all. Hell, she’d somehow managed to bring him here; either by his state, for there was little he cared about these days, or simply by charming her way around his mind. Hermione Granger had her ways, and he was beginning to admire her persistence.

She’d actually gone to the manor. After everything that happened there. After all… she’d still managed to open those gates, ignore the questions of the Aurors, speak to his mother, just to get a response from him.

After all those months believing she-

“Malfoy,” she said, bringing him back to life. His eyes focused on her, and he saw that she looked concerned at him. _For_ him. “I promise we won’t be long. You’ve nothing to fear.”

“I’m not frightened,” he told her. Lies. He _was_ frightened.

He’d told her as much that afternoon.

_“You were right, as much as it pains me to admit it. You do terrify me. Everything about this terrifies me.”_

_“Your blood means nothing.”_

_“Prove it.”_

He shook the thoughts away.

Granger led him through a gate with chipped paint, and they walked through a neat garden of what appeared to be an abandoned home. A strange… apparatus stood in the middle, poles digging into the grass, two seats swaying with the wind.

“It’s a swing set,” she explained when looked at him. “Here.”

She then sat down, and gestured for him to do the same. He outright refused.

Granger laughed.

It had been a while since he’d heard that laugh. The last time…

The last time he’d heard it had been against his mouth.

His blood boiled in a totally different way, and he attempted to hide it by looking away.

“It’s safe, I promise.”

He watched her once more, and Hermione swung just a bit, showing him. “See? If it doesn’t hurt me, it won’t hurt you.”

Ridiculous, what a waste of time-

He sat down hesitantly, holding on to the chains, almost losing his balance and falling on his ass when he lost his balance.

“Careful,” she chuckled, putting a hand behind his back to steady him. “There you go.”

He sat there, contemplating the house, contemplating her.

“What is it for?” He gestured to the apparatus.

“For swinging.”

He frowned. “But why?”

She kicked her legs, back to front, back to front, until she was going back and forth gently, her curls catching the wind. Her soft laughter committing itself to his memory without permission. “Obviously, because it’s fun.”

He could not begin to understand the way that muggles’ strange way of entertaining themselves, but he didn’t question it any further. He was content simply watching her like this, for a little while. It calmed him. It calmed his mind.

Breathing this air, smelling the trees…

He hadn’t felt free for a long while.

Hermione stopped gradually, until she was sitting still, her face half buried in her scarf. It was forest green.

She broke their silence by saying, “You know, most muggleborns only find they are special when their letter arrives.”

Silent, he watched her. There was a nerve pulling at him, some kind of eagerness to lift his hand and push away her hair hiding her face from him. Draco kept his hand firmly planted on his knee.

“But I knew,” Hermione said. “You know, I was a very strange kid.”

“Can’t wonder why.”

She raised that brow at him, and a gruesome part of him was a little bit delighted.

Hermione smiled, and continued, “Once, when I was very little, my mother frantically searched the house and couldn’t find me. She called authorities. Neighbours. Everyone. She found me quietly sitting on top of a bookshelf. I was two, two and a half, maybe.”

“And then, years later, I broke my father’s favourite vase. He’d never once scolded me. Not once. That day he did. I was heartbroken. I tried to glue the pieces back together and burst into tears when it didn’t look the same. When I opened my eyes, the vase was intact,” Hermione continued. Staring into nothing, seeing everything. “Like it never happened.”

Draco watched her intently, a slight drizzle falling over them both.

Of course English weather remained the same here.

After a moment’s pause, Draco asked, “Where are they?”

Hermione gulped, and looked up. “I am not sure.”

He blinked.

It’d never occurred to him to think of what had become of her parents, if they ever wondered why their daughter didn’t come back home after her term. If they were even aware of what was going on, so close to them.

Her face was pained as she lifted her head and looked at the back entrance of the house. “This house was sold only a few weeks ago. Their furniture… our furniture, is all gone.”

“What happened?” He attempted to ask, wondering if it was crossing a line, wondering if her pain could somehow ease his, wondering if it was wrong for him to want to know, to want to make her feel better.

“Before we set out to hunt for the horcruxes,” Hermione began, “I made a decision. It was too dangerous for them to know who I was, where I was. So I enchanted them.”

“You took away their memories.”

Brown eyes met grey.

“That is an impossible spell,” he found himself murmuring, half-awed. “Easily to get wrong-“

“But I didn’t,” Hermione said. “I got it right. Too right.”

It dawned on him.

And it shattered him.

Hermione blinked back tears as she said, “It can be undone, of course. I could return their memories. But it is a hard spell, harder than _obliviate_ , and that one… could potentially do irreversible damage.”

“Why haven’t you done it?”

“I just told you.”

Malfoy began to shake his head. “You know you would get it right. You’re…” he paused, gestured. “You know you’re brilliant.”

Hermione rested her cheek against the swing’s chain, and shook her head gently, defeated. “I’m scared, Malfoy.”

To admit that much…

And to _him_ , of all people-

“That’s never stopped you before,” he told her. Then frowned. “You believe they’re better off without remembering you.”

The shock on her face startled him. He did cross a line. But he already had one foot in that court, so he might as well tell her how it is. “You could easily find them, you know you could. You’re afraid they’ve found a better life.”

Hermione pushed back, sitting straight, watching him as if she couldn’t comprehend what he was saying.

And then, slowly, she looked away. “It’s more than that, Malfoy. They’ve rebuilt their lives. They have other dreams. Plans. Regaining back their memories would… unbalance them.”

They were silent for a while, watching twilight turn into night.

At last, Draco said, “Was it your plan to bring me here so you could convince me to go back?”

“Yes,” she drawled, a hand beneath her chin. “Did I soften your heart?”

He side-eyed her and couldn’t stop a bitter laugh that came out of his lips. “Funny.” 

She stared at him. “I wanted to show you. Just wanted you to know.”

“Why.”

“Because you understand,” she said, and nothing else.

_You understand._

There were layers to that fact, layers and layers he still had to uncover. But the one thing he could not deny was standing right in front of his nose, and had been, for the past few years: deep down, they were similar in their difference.

Hermione Granger had been judged for her blood the moment she discovered her powers. He’d done it. He’d been the one to share in that belief; that she was not worthy of sharing the magic he believed to be rightfully his.

Now, he’d be judged the same exact way.

He did not miss the irony.

“You said my blood didn’t matter,” she said. “Did you mean it?”

He didn’t pause. “Yes.”

He had a thousand apologies in his throat, wanting to come out, but… somehow, he knew she understood. It hadn’t been the kiss they shared, or the secret confessions. He’d been a child. A child taught to hate.

Now a man learning to love.

Hermione simply nodded, satisfied, and said, “I’m not asking you to come back, Draco. Each one of us deal with trauma and pain the best way we know how. Just know that, if you ever need it, my hand is yours to take.”

He wanted to kiss those words away.

Make her take them back.

Make her hate him again.

It would be easier, he thought.

Hermione lifted herself up off the swing, and stood in front of him, cheeks pink from the cold.

“You know, a great writer once said, ‘ _You cannot find peace by avoiding life’.”_ She smiled a gentle smile – a smile only she could create –, the street lights reflected like stars in her eyes. “Don’t avoid pain, Draco. We would not recognize happiness without it.”

Then she held out her hand.

And Draco didn’t know if it had been her eyes, or the way she’d said his name, his first name, that made his heart feel as if it was being dropped to the bottom of his stomach, much like he didn’t know if it was because he finally turned mad after those months trapped without a single glimpse of sunlight and warm, or if it was because Hermione Granger was brave and reckless, but also kind and gentle, that made him do what he did next.

He took her hand.

Lifted himself up, and watched as her eyes followed him as he towered over her.

Then he pulled her close, breathing in her warmth, the night’s air pulling at him like claws.

Hermione’s lips parted, and he observed the gesture like a hawk finding its target. She closed her eyes as he leaned in further, his heart jumping out of his chest. Their brows touched.

Whatever it was that drew him to her… Draco couldn’t stop it.

Didn’t _want_ to stop it.

No longer ignoring the ache to be close to her.

In this world, there were no eyes, no arms pulling her away from him. No Potter, no Weasel, to make him feel inadequate. To make him feel like a thorn pricking into a rose.

Their breath formed little clouds between them, and he could’ve spent hours like this.

Suddenly, Hermione breathed in a soft laugh, almost to herself.

He pulled away a little, slightly startled. “What?”

Inexplicable, when her hands touched his shirt at his sides. Blinding, when she looked up at him, and he realized that she was blushing – not from the cold.

“I thought I’d imagined it.”

What had happened between them.

Malfoy said lowly, “So did I.”

Hermione asked, “Do you hate it?”

He furrowed his brows in confusing, silently asking her to explain.

“Do you hate that you want me?” She whispered.

It was not something he could answer, not at that moment. Yes, yes, at times he did. It made him feel too vulnerable. It exposed what he’d wanted for years. It weakened him. And no, not at all. At the same time, it made him feel strong. She made him feel as if she could conquer the world.

It was frightening. Terrifying.

He leaned in again, sheltering himself in her warmth, his nose touching hers, bitterness in his tongue because of a past that still clung to him.

All he knew, is that he wanted to kiss her. He wanted many things, and all of them pointed to her. He wanted her mind and her smiles, her anger and her mischievousness. Her lips and her body and her brilliance. Her hurt, and her happiness.

It was too much for a heart to bear alone.

But as she leaned in, he thought maybe he could try.

His lips almost brushed hers, before something collided with the floor right next to them.

It drove him to move her out of the way, push her behind him, and reach back for his wand-

Hermione placed a warm hand on his arm, hushing him.

And then laughter.

Voices.

“I’ll go get it!”

“Just children,” Hermione murmured, pointing at the ball at their feet.

In the darkness, Hermione took his hand, and he let her.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

***

The gates of his manor looked menacing in the night. As a child, Draco always hated those gates. He’d dream of the day he’d get to tear them down.

Hermione apparated them just outside those gates.

He knew they were being watched. He was always being watched. Still, Malfoy stood in front of her, unable to move away from this trustful silence they’ve come to develop between them.

“Fine,” he drawled at last.

Hermione was already beaming.

He rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Stop looking so damn happy, Granger.”

She removed something out of her pocket, something shiny and small. He visibly paled.

“McGonagall wanted me to give this to you.”

Written on the badge were the words _Head Boy._

He snorted. “Is that her bloody way to bribe me?”

Hermione’s eyes softened. “It’s her way of saying she trusts you.”

Malfoy looked away, displeased.

“The title is rightfully yours.” She crossed her arms. “You are still one of the best students, and as such, it is deserved.”

He watched her whole ordeal: crossed arms, stubborn chin, brow lifting. Those eyes of hers, always scrutinizing him. 

“I could never beat you, though,” he narrowed his eyes. “I tried. Countless times. And hated you everytime you came up on top.”

Hermione’s smirk was a light in the night. “Try harder this year. We’ll see.”

It was new to him – this playfulness. Something he couldn’t quite handle, it seemed, for he was at a loss for words and his thoughts were a bumbling, babbling mess.

Secretly flustered, he cleared his throat. “What if I don’t want it?” He gestured to the badge.

Hermione’s eyes lifted to him then down to the badge. Back to him again. “You want it.”

He scoffed a laugh. If it had been before anything happened… hell, he would have felt something else. It would have been one thing to throw in Potter’s face. One thing he finally won.

Now – it didn’t quite seem to matter.

Her smirk transformed into something quieter, gentler. “I’m glad you decided to return, Malfoy.”

Draco looked at her, attempting to find the words. Thanking her was odd, and he was trying to find something worthy of what she had done, of the words she had said to him, but-

Everything would come up short.

So he just nodded in the end.

Hermione backed away with a smile. “Goodnight, then. I will see you on the 1st.”

That feeling again-

Pulling at him to take her hand and ask her not to go.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and before she could apparate, he said, “Granger.”

She turned, wand in hand, and he was halfway through the gates when he blurted out, “I like the green,” and gestured to her scarf.

He didn’t wait for her reaction, and simply walked inside, two Aurors already watching him from the entrance doors.

***

His mother was waiting for him in the parlour.

She sat in her usual chair, a book opened in her lap.

Her eyes watched him almost accusingly as he crossed the room.

“Where’s father?” He asked absentmindedly, letting himself half-fall into the sofa.

“She convinced you.”

Malfoy straightened, watching his mother, attentive to the hard tone. The fireplace burned, the magic flames kissing his skin and hissing like a coil of snakes.

“I decided for myself,” he said then, a bite to his own voice.

Narcisa lifted herself up abruptly, shutting the book as if she were slamming doors.

“They will be relentless, Draco,” she said to him. “They will cut you open until there are no more parts of you left.”

It would only hurt his mother further if he admitted the truth: that there was nothing much left of him to destroy anyway. That despite everything, nothing his peers could ever say or do would do more damage to him than his own thoughts.

“Do you think I do not know that?” He confronted her. “I have only to look out of my window to see what kind of world I live in now, mother.” He sighed, pushed himself off the sofa, and walked to the window. As if he could see her there. “The only way this rope will loosen is if I deal with the consequences. Or eventually, it will begin to suffocate me.”

It already was, is what he didn’t say.

Narcisa stifled her tears. “You shouldn’t take responsibility for the actions of your parents, Draco.”

“I am not without fault,” he told her, his eyes searching the darkness. “Stop pretending I didn’t do my part.”

“Draco-“

He turned, facing his mother. “Where are the letters? Did you burn them?”

Narcisa froze. “Yes.”

Malfoy began walking towards his room.

His mother called after him, but Draco Malfoy refused to listen.

***

With a swish of his hand, the candles in his room came to life.

After that afternoon, his room felt like the loneliest place in the world. When he sank into bed, he watched the high ceilings, thinking about fear and how it quickly becomes your worst enemy.

Thinking about Granger.

This girl who had dared to slap him across the face in their third-year.

His antonym, in so many ways.

His synonym, in so many others.

Draco sighed, unable to shake her from him, unable to think of anything else. With another swish of his hand, the room fell into darkness. Draco closed his eyes, and gave in to that darkness just to live in dreams plagued by light.


	3. Chapter 3

The strangeness of a 1st of september that he never expected to see again hit him like a train on that very crisp, autumn morning.

Draco Malfoy looked out of the window of the Hogwarts Express, watching the tail of the crimson train ride through the tracks, misty mountains around and ahead, patches of green and grey that belonged to a view he was seeing perhaps for the very last time. As Malfoy ignored the pesky little Prefects sitting round the table in their cabin, waiting for orders and chatting relentlessly, his mind became frost and smoke. His eyes unfocused. Taking in the view, he wondered how the world could end like it did months ago, and yet return to its normal form — as if it nothing had happened.

It truly felt like nothing ever happened.

The absent ache from his dark mark proved otherwise. Everything had changed.

He sighed, his attention returning as a particular loud laugh sounded from the Prefects table.

_Bloody Merlin,_ he thought to himself, sneering at those idiots. _Where is Granger?_

It had been only short few weeks without seeing her; only a week before, Malfoy had received a letter titled _Instructions_ in perfect handwriting. This time, the letter had fallen to his hands and no one else’s. And this time, he read it in the solitude of his bedroom, with a smirk etched on his face, because of course she was already bossing him around with endless lists on Head Boy conduct, rules to follow, rules to apply, and where they would meet the Prefects on the train.

But Granger was still nowhere to be seen.

And he was getting positively close to hexing one of these children.

She had never told him she was Head Girl. But Draco had guessed, the moment she presented him with the badge, that she would wear the matching one. After all, the role had been hers the moment she first walked through this train. So Malfoy was not surprised.

He’d been rather… uneasy about it.

Uneasy about many things when it came to Granger.

How they’d almost kissed that afternoon, when she took him to the muggle world. How he’d _leaned_ in, and _wanted_ to, desperately, to kiss her again. It almost made him ashamed to want something as much as he wanted her. Part of him wondered about it, if she had wanted it, too. Or if she would have pulled away.

He’d been avoiding thinking about it, or about her at all. It made his chest ache, and it was a foreign feeling: a mix of want and guilt and anger and all of it in between.

His parents would certainly go mad with rage if they knew. If there was anything left in them to actually feel such a thing. Most days, his father Lucius barely spoke a work, and his mother…

_Not the time to think about it._

He’d been having his fair share of odd looks ever since stepping on this train, as if his peers were surprised he was even allowed to walk anywhere near them. And laced with that quiet astonishment, had been anger. Hatred. 

He understood. He understood hatred more than any other feeling.

So he was mainly unbothered by it. Half the students had been asking about Potter for the majority of the trip (no surprise there), and the other half had been distractedly discussing the prospects of Hogwarts returning to normal.

All in all, Malfoy, it appeared, had no more fucks left to give.

Nobody could hate him as much as he hated himself.

As if on cue, the door of the cabin opened, and in came a familiar sight of angry curls, a freckled face, and wide brown eyes. Hermione Granger walked in with her wand in her hand and-

A little bit of something on the side of her cheek.

Malfoy blinked. Was it… chocolate?

“I’m so sorry I’m- Hello, excuse me. Please- Hello!”

The Prefects stopped their chit-chat and turned to stare at their Head Girl. Some widened their eyes in recognition. Some in admiration. Some in total awe. A boy sunk into his chair.

If Malfoy hadn’t been so distracted, he would have rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Granger gave him only a brief, unreadable glance, before turning back to the Prefects. It was definitely chocolate on her cheek. “Right, so…” A flick of her wand, and a piece of parchment appeared in front of each of the Prefects. “Here are your duties, divided by teams and functions.”

He briefly heard an awed whisper, not very concealed: “ _She can use magic outside of Hogwarts.”_

Hermione continued, as if she hadn’t heard it. “Firstly, check each cabin and make sure every student is in their correct seat.” Then she turned to look at him, gesturing with a hand.

It took him a second to realize that was his cue.

He stared at the Prefects. “If a student is not in their correct seat, you are to report to me or to the Head Girl. And if you fail to do so, I will know, and you will receive the same punishment of said student, as well as lose 10 House points. Refuse to do any of the tasks at hand, and you will respond to the Headmistress. Understood?”

No one looked at him in the eye.

And Draco realized: there was real fear in the way the students lowered their heads. Hatred and fear.

Good.

Hermione cleared her throat, and said to them, rather cheerfully, “Right. Any questions?”

A girl raised her hand, and shyly murmured, “What are we do if we finish early?”

A Granger in the making right there.

“Just rest and enjoy the trip, I guess,” Hermione smiled.

With that, the Prefects all walked out, parchments in hand, and then there was Granger, huffing to herself, her hair full of static. He watched her from his corner near the window, attentive.

“Something happened?” He asked, nonchalent. As if he didn’t care.

Granger looked at him, and there it was – that little chocolate smudge on the side of her cheek-

“Well, a little accident with one of the first years exploding a chocolate frog. Poor lad,” she chuckled, and her eyes wrinkled, and her eyes sparkled, and it appeared as if her freckles came alive, like little constellations. “He was so excited that it just got a bit out of control.” 

Hermione Granger had always been pretty. Annoying, truly, having to admit that to himself in third-year, especially after the humiliation of her slapping him across the face. But now-

He was entranced by her in a way he’d never been before. Like Hermione Granger gripped him by the throat and never allowed his gaze to ever wander. Malfoy hadn’t known when that had changed – maybe that afternoon in the Astronomy Tower, when she’d showed him unexpected, undeserved kindness. Maybe before, when he’d seen how hard she’d fought for those stupid walls of that stupid school, for those stupid people who would never thank her for it.

He didn’t know.

But one thing Malfoy knew was that he liked when Granger smiled, and he liked it much more when her smile was for him, and him only.

Maybe that’s why he hesitantly leaned in, and with the sleeve of his robe gently wiped away the smudge she hadn’t seen.

“I would have guessed something along those lines looking at you,” he said.

Granger blinked a few times, and watched his sleeve as he lowered it.

Coming back to herself, she said, with a bit of a stutter (to his immense satisfaction): “I… my face was dirty? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Your hair has been in the way – they didn’t see it.”

“I gave them a whole speech with dirt on my face,” she frowned.

“Would you have liked me to say it in front of them, Granger?” He raised a brow. “Rather indelicate, don’t you think?”

Granger crossed her arms. “You would know about being delicate.”

“Don’t provoke me,” he said, a dark glee embracing him at their little playful back and forth.

How natural it all seemed.

For those few seconds where Granger shook her head, smiling, Draco imagined this was the way it had always been. They’d grown up being friends, and he had never been a fool, and no prejudice had ever clouded his mind nor judgment, and she would’ve had a thousand more smiles reserved for him.

His mood eventually darkened again, a sombre shadow filled with memories falling over him as he drew back from her. Memories and… realization.

Realization that entering those walls would most likely mean distancing himself away from her, even with their duties. They couldn’t- he couldn’t…

Granger cleared her throat, smile fading as well, and told him, “I’ll begin patrolling my own House. I will see you at Hogwarts.”

He nodded. “Right. I’ll lead the Slytherins.”

Granger hesitated, and then said, “I’ve heard… a few conflicts arise ever since we stepped on this train. Slytherins will receive backlash, Malfoy. Especially any first years. And they will most likely need protecting. Keep on the lookout, will you? And anything you see or hear-“

“Report to McGonagall. I know, Granger. I read your little _Instructions_ letter.”

Granger nodded, watching him, most likely finding him cold again, and then she said, “See you.”

He watched her go.

And then there was only him. 

Green and grey over ahead.

***

Harry Potter was surrounded by people again.

Hermione cut through them all, saving her friend from having to talk to them all by grabbing his arm and saying to everyone: “Go back to your respective cabins, please. We still have a few hours to go, so entertain yourself with something else.”

A few disappointed glares and “But I wanted to speak to him!” type of arguments were thrown at her, but then, eventually, they all dispersed, and Harry was finally able to breathe.

“Thank you,” he told her, grabbing Hermione by the shoulders as if to settle himself.

Hermione smiled. “Just like the good old days, uh?”

Harry rolled his eyes and managed a smile. “No kidding.”

They made their way to their own cabin – the same cabin they’d always sat in, each and every year, like it had been made just for the three of them – and true enough, Ron Weasley was already cracking open a box full of chocolates, sitting with his feet up on the seats.

He instantly removed them the moment Hermione walked through, and then it was the three of them, like nothing had happened, like their seventh year was all they knew, and nothing tragic had happened inbetween.

But everything had changed.

Fred was gone.

Some of their own friends, perished.

Their school, rebuilt, but invisible scars etched in every surface.

Despite their strength, she’d seen Harry almost fall apart during the summer. The Weasley’s maintained their smiles and their good humour, but then she would see Mrs. Weasley staring out the window as if waiting for a son that would never return. Ronald had nightmares. All the time. And Hermione- 

Well – she barely slept at all.

They would never be the same, Hermione thought. But at least they could still lean on each other. No matter what.

It was impossible not to remisnisce. Not to think of better times, bickering with Ron and laughing with Harry on those very seats. Eating sweets and looking out the window, seeing grey and rain, excitement and nerves coming to the surface.

A thought came at her, hitting her like a train. Completely out of nowhere too, no correlation to her previous thoughts but-

Harry and Ron didn’t know about Malfoy being Head Boy.

Harry and Ron didn’t know about her _kissing_ Malfoy.

Hermione leaned back against the cushioned seat, watching those two laugh over idiotic jokes she would never truly understand. Well. She didn’t have to tell them every single aspect of her life, did she? And what would she tell them? What would she say? _How_ would she say it? 

It was going to be difficult, for anyone, to accept Draco Malfoy. Hermione herself had walked past numerous conversations about him, and not one had been good. Despite what he did at the battle of Hogwarts, Hermione was not so sure the Slytherin had managed to climb his way to the top on the list of people Ron and Harry liked.

And she was much too confused to even begin to describe what it felt like having feelings for Malfoy.

And, worse of all, it was difficult because of Ron.

She could still feel his disappointment, even from where he sat. He’d lose interest in her soon enough, Hermione convinced herself, especially now that he was so popular – almost being jumped by girls for being a hero.

The war had broken something in them both, Hermione thought. And even if Ron attempted to glue them back together, the cracks would still show, like broken glass.

“What d’ya think, ‘Mione?”

“I think you two need to stop eating so many sweets,” she interjected, crossing a leg over the other.

“Don’t start,” Ron laughed, waving a hand. “We were speaking about trying out for the Quidditch team again.”

Hermione glanced at him and made a face. “You know how I feel about Quidditch,” she shrugged. “I don’t care for it. But of course I’ll be there to watch you and support you and be the greatest friend you both were lucky to keep.”

Harry snorted at her sickly sweet smile. “Why don’t _you_ try out this year?”

“Funny,” Hermione said, and raised her chin. “But I have a better, more _productive_ way of spending my time, thank you very much.” 

“I don’t know, ‘Mione, I bet you would have the determination to be a Beater.”

“I will throw a book at your face,” she threatened Ron.

Ron smirked and elbowed Harry. “Point proven – the girl has good aim.”

They laughed, and Hermione smiled at them both.

These two idiots had been her greatest friends, and Hermione had been the one lucky enough to keep them, despite everything. Sitting there, watching them both, she’d never felt more thankful.

“It’s our last year,” Ron said, flinging a number of chocolate bonbons into his mouth at once. “We need to go out with a bang.”

“And good grades,” she insisted, nodding at Ron in warning.

“Sure,” he waved a hand dismissively.

Harry gave Hermione a look. “No use giving him a lecture now when he’s drunk on sugar, ‘Mione.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak- 

And then the door of their cabin snatched opened and in came a very bright-eyed Luna.

“Luna!” Harry exclaimed, lifting himself up to give her a hug.

“Hello, Harry. Ron, Hermione.” Luna smiled at them all, cheery and bubbly, and then, gesturing with her head to her very full hands, asked, “Would any of you like the Quibbler?”

***

“If it isn’t Draco Malfoy himself, risen from the ashes.”

“Take your hands off me, Nott, or I will remove each one of your limbs,” was Malfoy’s response to that familiar, bothersome voice, that had annoyed him for the better part of six whole years.

Theodore Nott twirled elegantly until he was in front of his friends, a shit-eating grin on his lips, and his tie undone. “We weren’t sure you were coming after all,” Nott said, and as if on cue, before him entered both Pansy and Blaise.

Just when Malfoy had finally found an empty and quiet cabin to brood in.

“Pretty badge you got there,” Blaise winked.

“Sod off, you git,” Malfoy sneered. “Nice _ring_.”

Pansy and Blaise both looked at each other with an undenying bond between them, and Malfoy almost threw up his whole breakfast.

“That’s right, newly engaged, uh?” Nott flipped around. “Not sure I congratulated you both, little lovebirds.”

Pansy chuckled at Nott, but accepted his hug nonetheless. “You idiot,” she said to him. “I sent you the invitation months ago.”

“Right,” Nott said. “Who plans their wedding a year before?”

“I guess Blaise here is all too excited to marry me,” Pansy pointed to her love and smirked.

Blaise only smiled at her, mischief and love in his eyes, and didn’t bother to deny it.

Then they all turned to Draco again.

“Head Boy,” Nott exclaimed, nodding in feigned appreciation. “Will you now have to give me a few spanks if I fall out of line, Draco?”

Malfoy, despite everything, snorted a laugh. “In your wildest dreams, Nott.”

And then Theodore’s face changed, and he wrapped Malfoy in a tight hug. “It’s nice to see you, old friend.”

Malfoy nodded against his friend’s shoulder, and allowed himself to squeeze him right back. Behind them, he saw Pansy’s face soften as she met his eyes, and then Blaise’s gentle sadness, woven in those dark eyes. 

And Draco understood – he hadn’t been the only one facing demons this summer. Of course not – he’d been his usual selfish self to think that the world ended only for him.

His friends had also lost so much.

They also felt guilt and anger and heartbreak.

And were now suffering the consequences – for both their actions and… their family’s actions.

“How are you doing?” Pansy asked seriously, arms crossed, meaning she wanted the truth, and no bullshit.

“Frankly?” Malfoy asked. “I want to go back to sleep.”

Blaise chuckled slightly, and they all sat together, like they were headed for another, normal year at Hogwarts.

“You do look like shit,” Nott said from his side.

“Even looking like shit, he still looks better than you, Noot-noot,” Pansy smirked, her favourite nickname delighting her friend to no end.

“Ah, Pansy dear, still charming as a rose full of thorns, uh?”

Pansy smirked as if she, indeed, was full of thorns.

“Let’s discuss real things,” Blaise said, putting a stop to those two’s bickering. He looked at Malfoy. “It’s the only year we’re not going to see you prancing around in the Slytherin’s dormitories like a bloody Prince. That’s _weird_ , man.”

“I don’t prance around,” Draco interjected.

“You do have a little flair for the dramatic, mate,” Nott said.

“He’s kind of right, Malfoy,” Blaise cut in.

“I won’t be gone, you dimwitts,” Malfoy said, glaring at them both.

“Ah, His Royal-ness will favour us with his glorious presence from time to time? How wonderful,” Pansy smirked. “Good luck on sharing a dormitory with _Granger_.”

Something tugged at Draco. The way Pansy had said that name.

“That’s right,” Theodore said then, smirking. “Mind getting me a date, Malfoy?”

Three heads snapped Nott’s way, and Pansy even gasped.

“What?” Malfoy said, looking bored out of his mind.

“Yeah,” Nott said, owning it. Gesturing vaguely. “I saw her walking around the train and thought she’s looking fit. What of it?”

Pansy paused, and then she told Blaise in a murmur, “Check his temperature.”

Theodore only laughed. “C’mon, Pansy. It’s time to leave the past in the past.” And then, much more seriously, or as serious as Nott could get: “The war is over. And I don’t want to be my father. I don’t want to follow orders anymore. We’re free, guys. Think about it: you don’t truly believe what they drilled into our heads, do you? We believed because it was _safe_ to believe. Because we had to. But we don’t have to do anything anymore. He’s _dead_. All that’s left to kill is the past. I’m certainly done with it.”

Pansy watched him for a few moments, and then she murmured, “We can all admit that they were wrong, yes.” Guilt – it was a bit of guilt coating Pansy’s dark eyes. All gone in an instant. “But it’s Granger, Nott. You really want to go there?”

Blaise looked at Pansy. “Let him have his crush.”

Pansy smirked. “Adorable, Noot-noot. Truly.”

Nott crossed his arms in feigned indignation, making Pansy chuckle, and Malfoy found himself looking out the window again, distracted.

“Malfoy? Hello?”

Draco turned back to his friend and sighed, “Merlin be damned, Nott, _what_?”

His friend smirked. “A little help getting a date with Granger?” And winked. “Please. Be my wingman.”

“Do it yourself,” Malfoy sneered. “You’re a grown man.”

“Oh,” Nott said conspiratorially. “Unless you’d rather keep her to yourself.”

Malfoy only smirked at his friend. “If Granger deigns to even look at you, Nott. _If_.”

“We’ll see,” was Nott’s only response.

Before Draco could think of a way to retort, a gentle knock sounded, and then their cabin door opened.

Luna Lovegood smiled at them like an oblivious rabbit greeting three raptors.

“Hello, Draco,” she smiled. “Hi, Pansy, Blaise. And Theodore too.”

Nott was blinking in surprise. Strange.

Pansy looked at Luna up and down, but before she could come up with an undoubtedly wity response, Luna’s gaze stopped on Theodore and she said, “Your tie is undone.”

Theodore opened his mouth and closed it several times. Draco furrowed his brows.

“I know,” Nott said softly, not with his usual drawl.

“Oh,” Luna smiled. “I thought maybe I should warn you, you know, that the Nargles sometimes do funny things like that and make you believe that you’ve simply forgotten it. I once kept tripping on my own shoes, you know, because of the little pesky creatures. Always undoing my laces. Quibbler?”

“Sure,” Nott blurted out.

They all turned to look at their friend with narrowed eyes as Nott accepted a copy.

“Goodbye,” Luna said, and graciously went away.

“Loony is still loony,” Pansy muttered. “That girl should’ve belonged to Slytherin – we’d toughen her up a little.”

Blaise snorted a laugh. “Why?”

Pansy shrugged as if it were obvious. “She’s mad, but she’s got the brains. We could use it to win the House cup this year. FINALLY.”

“You actually would want Lovegood in Slytherin?”

Pansy stared at Blaise. “What? Despite everything, she’s bloody brilliant, let me tell you that much. And we could use the extra points this year.”

After that, Draco stopped hearing Pansy and Blaise’s back-and-forth about Lovegood, because something in Theodore’s face made Malfoy too aware that Luna’s presence had somehow unsettled his usually smug friend, who now flipped through the Quibbler thoughtfully, like he wasn’t paying any attention to what he was pretending to read. Nott’s eyes looked up at his friends’ conversation whenever her name was mentioned, only to be dragged right back down.

No witty remark.

Until Nott suddenly said, interrupting them both: “Have you noticed how Lovegood seems to be the only one that doesn’t hate us?”

Pansy said, “I reckon she could never hate. Not even You-Know-Who.” She paused. And then crossed her arms, and said, “Let them hate us. Let them fear us. The less I’m bothered this year, the better.”

Blaise nodded in agreement, and Nott frowned harder as he looked out the window, the Quibbler opened and forgotten on his lap. “Well, my friends, I reckon we’re going to get a little taste of our own medicine this year.”

They all went silent.

But the train carried on – and so would they.

***

The ceremony was a little different this year.

McGonagall’s speech had been both a tribute to those they had lost, as well as a tribute to those who had contributed to stop Voldemort. 

Hermione had never seen such sorrow in her old Professor’s face. 

“It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” Luna whispered form besides Hermione. The girl had chosen to sit with her friends, rather than sit at the Ravenclaw table. Much to Neville’s delight, Hermione quickly noticed. “McGonagall’s speech.”

“It was,” Hermione murmured, watching her Professor abandon the main steps and join the rest of the Professors, all taking a moment of silence. There was a new face among them, a new teacher it appeared – it could only be the new Dark Arts Professor.

“Who is that, d’you reckon?” Ron pointed with his chin, his words dragging between chews of bread.

“That’s Rosella Twig,” Neville cut in. “My grandmother has known her for a very long time – I think her son became a death eater.”

“You don’t say,” Hermione said, blinking.

Neville nodded, a bit solemn. “My grandmother told me she begged her son not to fall into You-Know-Who’s hand, but he was too tempted. She lost him that day.”

Hermione looked to the poor woman, finding only a solemn, slightly wrinkled but lovely face, dark curls with splashes of white in them, and an expression that hurt a little to look at.

To lose a son in such a way…

“How did she come to be here?” Hermione whispered to Neville.

“No idea,” Neville murmured. “Didn’t ask. Although I know that McGonagall has known her for a long while, too – must have been that.”

And the conversation died as McGonagall introduced Professor Twig, who looked more like a Herbology teacher than a Dark Arts instructor. The woman smiled very little, and said much less. A quick solemn thank you to the students, to McGonagall, and then she was sat by Hagrid, looking down at her hands, gently folded on her lap.

The sorting hat was placed on a bench, and the first student was called forth.

Hermione’s mind drifted away, the background a mixture of her friends’ conversations and the loud boom of the sorting hat’s announcements.

The first girl was placed into Slytherin.

And the whispers stopped. The world seemed to be silent for a long while, and then Slytherin exploded into cheers. Students clapped and waved and rose out of their seets to take the little smiling girl into their welcoming arms.

Hermione saw it – the way the other houses shifted their gazes. The way the Slytherins cheered even louder, as if to combat the deadly silence that had befallen the Great Hall. They were now protecting only each other, leaving the other houses to judge them all they liked.

A few seats away, Hermione heard a fellow student scoff and sneer at the sight.

Unable to stop herself, she blurted out, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

She did not know the boy’s name. But whoever he was, turned to her and asked, “Excuse me?”

“It’s a child,” Hermione whispered-shouted. “And even if she wasn’t, judging people because of their House is not going to do anything other than spread hatred.”

“Maybe they deserve it,” he snapped.

Harry and Ron both looked to the boy, then to Hermione, and neither dared to step in. Her cheeks were red.

“That way of thinking started a _war_ ,” Hermione replied, voice like a soft thunder.

The Gryffindor table went deadly quite.

The boy turned away, and Hermione shook her head.

Ron whispered to her, “’Mione, what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, and looked away from him.

Conversation over.

Hermione dared to look over Ron’s shoulder then, as he fell back into conversation with Harry, for just a second. And, as if a lightning bolt drawn to a tree, her gaze clashed with Malfoy’s. He sat with Nott and Parkinson by his sides, silent as the others cheered. As quickly as their gazes had met, he looked away – back to the ceremony. The newest Slytherin sat down, and another made his way to the sorting hat.

_He’d been looking at me._

Hermione only noticed another pair of eyes on her when she forced herself to tear her gaze away from the Slytherin table. Ginny stared at her as if knowingly, sitting right by Harry’s side. But Hermione didn’t give her friend a hint of what turbulent thoughts went through her head. She simply smiled, went back to her food, and the world continued as if lightning had never struck.

***

They met in the dormitories the Head Girl and Head Boy shared.

They’d taken different paths, but funnily enough, had ran into each other.

Malfoy had hoped to avoid her.

Coward.

The dormitories were dome-shaped, with a little entrance door leading to a small common room. A fireplace and two chairs sat in the middle. On each side, two doors for two rooms.

He’d almost made a run for it. Until he heard the password being said in a soft, tired voice outside.

_“Tickle the dragon.”_

And then she was facing him.

“Malfoy,” she nodded at him. “Did you have any problem with the first-“

“No,” he said, and realized it had only been a breath of a word, a little soft nothing coming out of his lips.

Hermione stopped and looked at him. Hesitating. For what, he wondered? What words did Granger have trapped beneath her clever tongue?

“Listen…” she began, a little uncomfortable.

“I know McGonagall wants you to keep an eye on me.”

Because he couldn’t bear to have her eyes on him any longer, Malfoy slowly walked to the fireplace, resting his arm on the mantel. He watched the flames, tiredly, wanting and not wanting, hating himself a little and not her, never her, not anymore.

Granger stuttered. “I- I don’t-“

He smirked just a little.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the way his fingers just twisted at the prospect of her rounding one of the chairs and coming to face him.

He looked up at her and softly said, “You’re a terrible fucking liar, Granger.”

She blinked, offended, stepping closer, definitely preparing herself to point her bossy little finger at him and tell him off, but he beat her to it.

“When you lie,” he said, “never turn your eyes away. You face the person, for everyone falls for confidence – even if it’s fake. And this, what you do with your hands,” he pointed at her right hand, closed into a fist, “is your biggest tell. You tense, all ove,r when you lie. Also your voice. Correct your tone.” He paused at her astonishment, then calmly said. “Now try again.”

“I-what?” She shook her head. “I wasn’t going-“ Then she sighed, fuming, and raised her chin to him. That stubborn chin. “What brought this on?”

“Evidence I don’t need,” he stated. “Naturally, she’s put me on a sort of trial, hasn’t she? And she’s got you, of course, to monitor me. To, dare I say, be her little spy of sorts. That’s why I’m here. It’s only right, Granger. Now, try that little lie of yours again, and maybe this time I’ll buy it.”

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds. He met her gaze, steel on steel.

Hermione finally said, “It’s not about trust, Malfoy.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “One more lesson in deceit, Granger: you blink too many times when you tell a lie. It shows discomfort, and it gives you away. Do you want another?” He leaned in. “You. Could never. Lie. To me.”

The hiss in his voice made her flinch, even as he brushed past her and walked to his own door.

“Wait,” she turned.

Malfoy, damn him, did indeed stop. He worked his jaw, then slowly turned, a bitter taste in his mouth.

Granger said, “I should have been honest with you. But I couldn’t bring myself to.”

“Why.”

“Because you trust me,” she breathed. “And I didn’t wish to break that trust. I don’t. And I haven’t.” She walked to him and Malfoy almost took a step back, involuntarily. “McGonagall wants you here. She’s much more concerned with… outside forces than you turning against us. She knows you won’t. And _I_ know that you won’t.”

“Outside forces,” he repeated.

Granger bit her cheek, and her could see the trouble in her eyes. “If any of them come back for you, for some reason. If Bellatrix…” she didn’t continue.

And she turned away from him abruptly.

But not without him seeing the shine in her eyes. Tears.

Tears she didn’t want him to see.

She brushed a sleeve over her eyes quickly, then turned back to him, composed.

“My friendship isn’t a lie,” she said firmly. No clenched fists. “Am I blinking too many times now?”

Her anger was familiar and somewhat welcome. But Draco could not ignite any anger right back at her. Not like this. Not now. Not when everything had changed. He placed his hands in his pockets, watched her, and for a few moments, they simply stared at each other. Analysing. A silent promise falling over them both.

She would have never brought him or agreed to bring him here if she believed that he posed a danger to her friends – or to her.

Hermione Granger made him travel to the muggle world – to a place that had once been her home. A safe place. She’d showed it to him, shared it with him, and the stories that came with it, even if no one could have been less worthy than him.

“Why did you show me?” He murmured.

She looked up, confused.

“Your…home. In the muggle world. Why did you show me?”

“I told you,” she said. “I want you to see-“

“Look at me, Granger,” he interrupted, bringing himself closer to her, almost unconciously giving in to that pull. She did. She looked up at him. “Look at me and tell me.”

Hermione paused. Her eyes on him. “I wanted you to see… something real. I wanted you to see a part of me that had been happy and safe, and I wanted you to see it and… show me that part of you that cared. And you did.”

He furrowed his brows.

She said, “It was always there.”

He moved away when she tried to touch his cheek.

“Draco,” she whispered.

He hesitated, toeing the line and wondering if he should cross it. Wondering if he was brave enough for it. Because this…

This was not where he belonged. Not in this light.

He ran and hid and hid and hid some more. Lived in darkness in shadows because it was safe. While she-

Roared for the skies to hear.

“You were going to kiss me in the muggle world,” she said. “You wanted to.”

Draco remained silent, watching her, his mind chaos.

“You’re silent because you can’t lie to me,” she continued. “Not about this.”

“Granger,” he warned.

“Is it admitting it so shameful to you?” she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself.

He walked to her. One step, two, three. And then he was close, close enough that he might just lean in and indeed lose all his damned self-control. Close enough to smell the perfume in her hair and in her neck. So close he could have-

“The only shame I feel is in myself, Granger,” he almost growled. “And not for wanting you. Don’t you understand that I have reasons to keep myself very far away from you and all that you do to me? You _ruin_ me. Keep it up and I might just push you against this wall and kiss you like I want to kiss you. Beg it of me, and I might do it. And I can’t-“ He paused, looked away, breathed. “I can’t.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but he was already gone. A turn, and Malfoy walked through the door of his room, leaving her speechless and utterly alone.

***

There was a small balcony on his room, and it was lined with vases of dying flowers.

The cold whisled and pushed. Tore at the fragile petals. Malfoy looked into the night, and ran his fingers through his rather untidy hair.

Another balcony rounded the tower, and he saw a figure stepping out of the doors, into the night. Her robe was pink and her hair was up, out of her face, and she didn’t see him, but he saw her. Hermione braced herself against the railing, and Malfoy watched the way she closed her eyes and breathed in the cold air. The angle of her face, the stars colouring her face-

He pushed himself away and walked inside, closing the doors and leaving those flowers to wither and die.


End file.
